


His Eyes

by NaughtyBees



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Brief emeto cw, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Robbery, Slight vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: If there was one thing Albert Mason knew, it was that he loved Arthur Morgan with his whole heart. His very own rugged cowboy, ready and waiting to save him from peril. But did he love him back?
Relationships: Albert Mason & Arthur Morgan, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 28
Kudos: 59





	1. Maybe

Albert wasn’t someone who was good at recalling the colour of people’s eyes, he often remembered it wrong. But how could he forget those? The green-blue, darker ring around the iris, bloodshot from sleepless nights and too much drink, somehow steely and soft at the same time. They were the eyes of a younger man, yet they held a severity about them, like they’d seen far too much more than any one man should.  
He stared in the hotel mirror at his own eyes. Greeny hazel, wide and fearful, not at all like Mr Morgan’s. They were a photographer’s eyes, perfect for noticing the setup of a viewfinder, but not much else. They could find the beauty, ripe for capture, itching to immortalise everything on paper.

Like Arthur. The photograph he’d first taken of the dashing cowboy was hidden in his book, third in a pile of casual shots he couldn’t see published. Always third. He hated that he’d go back to it, tracing the lines of his posture with guilty fingertips. These feelings were misplaced. A woman, that’s where they belonged. Upon the soft curves of her bosom, nestled within her heart. Yet, try as he might, they were affixed to that rugged man, who seemed to so delight in making fun of his blundering helplessness. That quirked smile he saw when he gave him the photo of the wolves still floated in his mind, unable to be shaken.

Dragging his hands down his face, Albert sighed and donned his boater hat, checking out of the hotel. Only a few more weeks before he went back to New York, only a few more photo opportunities. Of course, he wanted to get a picture of a bear, or a panther, but he doubted he’d see Arthur again. Those few chance encounters were just that. Lucky rescues from the jaws of some animal or other. It wasn’t as though a man like Arthur Morgan, so strong, so rugged, so capable, would even think twice about a weak little scholar like him. No, he probably had some strong woman back home, who wore britches, and could wield a pistol like he did a camera, and who loved him dearly. He couldn’t help but bristle at that as he mounted his horse, jealousy deep in his stomach. No. Stop it. Arthur wasn’t even his friend, he was an acquaintance. He probably never spared him a second thought when he wasn’t rescuing him from being mauled by a turkey.

The weather was perfect. The sun was high in the sky, warm and clear, lazy clouds shuffling across the blue. He’d decided it had to be a cougar. He’d be smart about it though. Predator bait from the store, a high vantage point, some cover scent lotion, he’d be fine. And if he was eaten, well, that would only help his chances of getting his work recognised. As he set up his tripod on top of a cliff ledge, he aimed his viewfinder at the bait he’d placed below. Snap a photo, then quickly jump on his horse and leave. That was the plan. A part of him he didn’t wish to acknowledge hoped that the more danger he was in, the more chance he’d have of attracting that rugged cowboy, just to see the roll of his eyes and the purse of his lips. Oh, what lips. Chapped and scarred, always with a sardonic quip behind them. The thought that next struck him was one that gave him a sick feeling of both fear and shame, trying not to imagine how rough they’d feel against his own. No, he’d just have to not see Arthur again, he couldn’t allow himself to feel this way. He’d go back to New York and forget all about his knight in shining armour.

“Wolves again, Mr Mason?”

Albert all but screamed, leaping away from his camera and waving his arms to steady himself, clutching his chest. Arthur stood at the bottom of the ledge, as though summoned by Albert’s racing thoughts, his arms folded, hip cocked.  
“N-Not this time, Mr Morgan.” Albert squeaked, before clearing his throat. He pushed the anxiety down into his stomach and took a breath. “Cougars this time. Marvellous animals.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Oh, those eyes. “You ain’t ever had one gnawing on your horse.” He smirked up at him. “Any particular reason you’re up there?”

Albert nodded. “Thought I’d be safe up here. If it decides I’m lunch, it will have a hard time getting to me.”

“Mr Mason…” Arthur sighed. He took a running leap at the cliff, jamming his boot in a crack in the rock and hauling himself up and over the edge. He barely broke a sweat as he stood beside the smaller man, dusting off his hands. “That cougar will have no issue leaping up here for his breakfast.”

Albert paled a little, his hands shaky on the camera. “Oh dear… I hate to impose, Mr Morgan, but--“

“Ain’t no imposition.” Arthur interrupted, unshouldering his rifle. “Just keep quiet, and we’ll see if I need this.”

After thanking him, Albert stayed silent. Although he enjoyed the sounds of the wilderness, the twitter of birds and distant calls of deer, the only sound that reached his pink ears was the slow, deep breaths of the man beside him. He could only imagine how healthy he was, how much strength and stamina he possessed. Oftentimes he found himself wondering what Arthur did for a living. He couldn’t have been a ranch hand, he was too much of a good shot. A hunter? He was always in the wilderness and was deft with a skinning knife. That was probably it. He didn’t wear many pelts though, so maybe a bounty hunter. He tried not to dwell on the image of being tied to the back of his horse, entirely at his mercy.

“Here we go.” Arthur whispered, so close to the back of Albert’s neck. He could feel the heat from his breath, and it only spurred on his nervous trembling as he zoned in on the cougar. It was beautiful, pale fur twisting with the push and pull of muscle, bone and sinew. It stalked toward the bait, sniffing at it curiously, then realised it wasn’t food. Scenting the air, it looked up at the two men on the cliff, and bared its teeth in a shrieking howl. Albert captured the photo, his delight at the perfection of the shot being overshadowed by his terror as the cougar began to run toward the cliff.

Albert stared at Arthur, who hadn’t moved. “M-Mr Morgan!” He cried.

“Nearly.” Arthur mumbled, aiming his rifle. The cougar leapt the cliff with a single bound, and the crack of the gun made Albert scream, clamping his hands over his ears. The bullet only grazed the cougar’s face, ripping it open, but not killing it. It swiped a huge paw at Arthur, and the cowboy hissed as his legs were knocked out from under him, the pair of them falling from the cliff. Arthur grunted as he hit the ground flat on his back, and the cougar pounced onto him, roaring with rage as it moved to clamp its teeth around his neck.

“No, no!” Albert screamed. Oh, god. He’d killed Arthur with his stupidity. He’d killed him, all for an idiotic photo. He was dead, dead and gone, never to be seen again.

Arthur spat blood as he pushed the carcass of the cougar off himself, pulling his knife from its throat and wiping it on the grass. “Nasty bastard.” He grumbled.

Albert could barely believe his eyes. “M-Mr Morgan? Oh, you’re okay! Oh, oh my…” His knees buckled and he toppled to the ground, sitting beside his tripod, bewildered. “Goodness gracious…”

“You okay?” Arthur asked as he limped up the side of the cliff to stand beside Albert. “You’re not hurt are you?”

Looking up at him, Albert frowned. Arthur’s trousers were ripped, stained dark with blood. His shoulder seemed to have puncture marks, his shirt growing wetter. He didn’t know if the blood on his chest was his or the cougar’s.  
“Me? Me?! What about you!? You’re injured!” Albert wailed, springing to his feet with a rush of adrenaline, beginning to fret over Arthur.

Shrugging, the cowboy smirked. “Just a scratch. Did get a bit of a bonk on the noggin’ on the way down though.”

Albert frowned and grabbed Arthur’s arm, any shame about their close proximity replaced with concern. He steered him over to a rock and sat him down, watching him take off his hat and rub at a bump on his head. “I hope you don’t have a concussion.” He cupped a hand under Arthur’s jaw, and the man didn’t seem to mind Albert placing his palm over his eyes. He waited a moment, then drew his hand away quickly, watching Arthur’s pupils narrow normally in the afternoon sun. “No, I think that’s fine.” He whispered, lingering on those eyes for a moment. How they sparkled in the sun, like the diamonds on a wealthy woman’s fingers.  
He realised with a burn in his cheeks that his hand was still pressed into Arthur’s strong jaw, and he drew it away like he’d touched a hot surface.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Arthur regarded him silently as he fumbled in his bag for medical supplies. “Luckily, I am not too much of a dolt to be unprepared.” He pulled out some disinfectant and some rolls of bandage, kneeling in front of Arthur. And there was that thought again. In front of him, on his knees, so close. So far. He grit his teeth as he very gently rolled up Arthur’s trouser leg, not having the sense to ask for permission, but not needing it.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked again. Albert wondered why, then he realised he must have been wincing. The cougar hadn’t got him. Arthur had.

Waving a hand, Albert busied himself with dressing the deep scratches. “No, no… Just not too good around blood.” He muttered as he wound the bandage around his leg. “Are the ones on your shoulder deep?”

Arthur shook his head. “Think they just need a clean out. They’re just little ones.” He said, watching Albert closely. His complex eyes trailed from his dressing, to his bloody hands, up his almost perfectly crisp outfit, to the hat that obscured his face. Reaching out, he plucked the hat off Albert’s head and placed it on his own. Albert started, looking up at Arthur. He knew that to wear another man’s hat out here would net you a fist to the teeth, as they were very personal items. Was that a gesture of intimacy? Or was Arthur showing that he saw Albert as a worthless city boy, undeserving of the strange etiquette surrounding headwear?

“Suits you.” Was all he said, despite the thoughts racing through his mind. He pulled the trouser leg back down and stood up. “Right. Shoulder.”

“Thanks, Mr Mason.” Arthur smiled as he popped open his shirt buttons. “Can’t remember the last time anyone fussed over me like this. Oh, actually, yes I can…”

“When was that?” Albert asked. The answer was probably right in front of him though. As Arthur peeled off his shirt, his breath caught in his throat. For all his dreaming, he could never have imagined… His skin was paler on his torso than his sun-weathered face. It was stretched over muscles that seemed large enough to crush Albert into dust, should they wish to. However, it wasn’t the ropey tendons or prominent veins, or the hairy chest leading a trail over his slightly pudgy belly and down to regions forbidden. No, it was the glimmer of silver scar tissue. Particularly the one on the opposite shoulder to the cougar attack. A bullet wound, with a burn welt around it. Cauterised. More scars, a canvas of conflict, spread out from it, like lines of sorrowful songs spoken only in secret to those trustworthy enough to hear.  
“Mr Morgan…” Albert whispered as he touched the angry looking scar, ugly and raised. No, not ugly. How dare he ever try to attach that word to anything that involved this man?

Arthur gestured toward the still bleeding puncture wounds impatiently, and Albert snatched his hand away, quickly getting back to his tending. “Sorry.” He whispered hurriedly as he soaked a cloth in disinfectant, wiping gently at the wound.

“O’Driscolls.” Was all Arthur said. When Albert looked at him, he could see the gentle concern in his eyes, the silent invitation to continue, but the opportunity not to. “Tortured me a little. No big deal.”

Albert sputtered a little. " _Torture_?! If that’s not a big deal, I dread to think what is!” He cried. “I am so sorry, Mr Morgan.”

“I’m alive now, ain’t I?”

“Yes, but no thanks to me.” Albert frowned as he stemmed the bleeding with soft, gentle hands. “You could’ve been killed…”

Arthur smiled. “Nah. I’ve wrestled bears. A cougar ain’t gonna kill me.” He rolled his shoulder when Albert was done, watching him move around to his back to wipe at the grazes there. “You don’t gotta fuss over me.”

“O-Oh. I’m sorry.” He pulled his hands back, frowning. He’d got carried away. The glimpse he got of Arthur’s back before he pulled on his shirt stayed with him. The muscle structure. The scars. The freckles. “I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr Morgan. Let me say again, I am forever in your debt.”

Arthur snorted. “I can’t think of what you could do for me, but I’ll keep it in mind.” He said as he buttoned his shirt. As Albert picked up Arthur’s hat to pass him it, he shot him a look, a dangerous look. It made the blood drain from his face. It seemed to be purely instinctive, however, as it soon melted away. Arthur didn’t say a word, taking the hat, and putting the straw boater back on Albert’s head with a heavy hand. “If you get that cougar printed, I’d love a copy.” Arthur said as he donned his hat, running two quick fingers around the brim. “I’ll tack it next to the wolves.”

Albert nodded, smiling at Arthur. Oh, how perfect he was. A head taller, a width wider, with muscles thrice as bulky, and eyes infinitely more interesting. His smile, his laugh, the rough of his hand against his smooth city palm as they parted company. That walk, so confident, so fearless, as though a yell from God Himself would not have swayed him. As Arthur mounted his horse, he gave Albert a two fingered gesture of farewell, and Albert watched as he trotted into the treeline and beyond.  
Then, all he was left with was the blood on his hands, the guilt in his gut, and the warmth in his heart.


	2. Never

Arthur could barely concentrate as the plan was laid out on the table, with maps and location tips. This had been Trelawney’s, but Hosea had refined it into something operable.

“...on the bridge here, then if the law gets wind, they’ll have to ride close to get us. Fish in a barrel…”

He tuned out again. His skin could still feel the ghost of those soft hands from two weeks prior, so caring. So gentle. As he began to daydream about where those hands could travel to, he got a flash of a memory. Eliza. He grit his teeth and clenched a fist, forcing himself to focus back on the plans. Albert wouldn’t end up like that. He wouldn’t. Even if Arthur had to strangle every grizzly with his bare hands, even if he had to shield him with his own body against a thousand bullets, he’d keep him safe.

“Arthur, were you even listening?”

Starting, he looked up at Hosea, nodding. “Yeah, sorry, just committing it to memory.”

Hosea didn’t look convinced, but dismissed the group anyway. “Bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget.” He said warningly as he rolled up the map.

His brain was a soup of feelings and plans as he rode into Valentine that evening. He growled to himself as he tried to mentally beat the emotions out of his body. Even if someone as perfectly wonderful as Albert Mason wanted someone like him, he knew it could never be. The mere idea of it, Albert on the ground, his milky skin crimson, eyes staring sightlessly. No. It could never be.

With a satchel full of ammo, Arthur left Valentine, veering off the road to make camp amongst a patch of trees just out of sight of Downes Ranch. Ah, that guilt again. He steeled against it as he dismounted his horse, giving her a rough pat.

“Boo!”

Arthur’s pistol was out of its holster and zeroed in on the noise before a second had passed, and Albert shrieked and held up his hands. “Ah! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I just thought I’d get you back for all the times you’ve frightened me!”

“Mr Mason.” Arthur breathed, putting away his gun and popping his jaw. “Real good job I don’t shoot first.”

Albert gave a nervous laugh and swallowed hard. “I understand. The life of a bounty hunter is probably fraught with danger.”

Bounty hunter? Is that the person Albert thought he was? He didn’t correct him, however much it unsettled him not to. He needed to keep Albert away from his world at any cost. “What are you doing here anyway?” Arthur asked, trying not to make the subject change obvious.

“Owls!” Albert smiled delightedly. “Gorgeous ones at that. Nesting just around here. I’ve already got a shot of one feeding a mouse to the chicks. The perfect predators. Imagine if we could turn our heads 270°. Oh, they’re fabulous. Huge eyes, perfect for low light vision…”

Arthur stood and listened to Albert talk for what seemed like hours, but no time at all. It was so easy. Usually, people irked him, but Albert…

With a flush, Albert stopped talking, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, you probably have better things to do than hear me whitter on.”

“Not particularly.” Arthur said as he sat down on the grass. The sun slowly slipped down behind the mountains, the bright sunset being replaced with the beautiful glow of the full moon. He cast his eyes over to Albert, seeing his flawless skin glow, his auburn curls dancing in the cool breeze. And then they were staring at one another. Arthur didn’t tear his eyes away for a few moments, but soon reached into his satchel, pulling out some bottles. “What’s your poison? Morgan Saloon is now open. Bumbling photographers drink free.”

Albert hummed, an upward glance showing the owls were off hunting again. He had ten minutes to spare. “I don’t suppose you have any white wine and soda?” He teased with a smirk, kneeling beside Arthur. “Rum, perhaps. Though I can’t remember when I last drank hard alcohol.”

Arthur put the rest of the bottles away and uncorked the rum, taking a deep swig. Albert’s eyes fixed on the bob of his Adam’s apple, a drop of the alcohol trickling down his chin from his lips. What he wouldn’t give to be that drop…

He had to be nudged to notice the bottle being offered, and he took it with a thank you, drinking tentatively. He coughed and spluttered as it burned his throat, making a face. Arthur laughed, oh what a gorgeous noise, rumbling yet light. “That’ll put hair on your chest.”

“I hope so.” Albert smiled. “Despite my hirsute appearance, I’ve yet to get any of the buggers on my body. Apart from… well, we’re both gentlemen, we know where.” He laughed.

Arthur thought that over. Soft, white skin, bowing to his rough touch, and how it would be raw and bruised after he’d made Albert scream his name. But then he saw it again. This time, his hazel eyes stared down at him from a noose, unblinking, unfeeling, and Arthur grit his teeth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that too much?” Albert asked quietly.

“No! No… Sorry, just…” Arthur rubbed his face with his fingers. “Long day.”

Albert passed him the bottle back, then placed a hand on his shoulder at the base of his neck. His thumb worked its way into the taut muscle there, and Arthur all but melted into his touch. He was silent, waiting for the inevitable dismissive push away that never came, and when it didn’t, his other hand joined in. He found knots in Arthur’s back muscle, so well defined, so perfectly strong, and coaxed them loose with deft fingers. Arthur groaned, a sound that made heat pool in Albert’s belly. He’d done that. He’d made him make that noise. Deep and rumbling, like the snarl of a bear.

“Left a bit-- ah, that’s it…” Arthur felt as though he’d been blessed, though for what good deed, he didn’t know. The last time he’d been touched like this had been an unwelcome wash from one of the women in Valentine. He hadn’t enjoyed it, not when his mind was on Albert. He’d wished then that the photographer was scrubbing him clean. But here he was, putting his all into making Arthur comfortable. “Thank you, Mr Mason. Feels better.” He smiled, turning to pass him the bottle again.

“It’s the least I can do.” Albert smiled. In truth, even if Arthur hadn’t saved his skin ten times over, he would have kept going forever. He took the rum, another drink making his head spin a little, stomach feeling weird. “I suppose your lady wife does it better than I do.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “No wife. I had an almost wife but…well, she didn’t want someone like me. And I couldn’t change into someone I’m not. She was right though. I ain’t the type of man to be loved.”

The ungrateful bitch. Albert’s joy that Arthur was untethered was overshadowed by rage that he’d been made to think he wasn’t good enough for someone. “You are the finest man I’ve met since being here, Mr Morgan.” Albert levelled his tone to sound comforting despite his clenched fist. “You are kind, and considerate, and you help me with absolutely no expectation of compensation.”

Arthur lowered his eyes to the ground, staring purposefully at the dirt. “I ain’t. I really ain’t, Mr Mason.” He drank again, swilling the liquor around his teeth before swallowing. “You bring good out in me. But I’m a bad man.”

“Tosh and rubbish!” Albert cried, making both Arthur and himself jump. “First time we met, did you rob me blind? No, you were interested in my work. You helped me get my bag back. You’ve chased horses for me, you’ve fended off wolves, you’ve baited alligators, you were nearly killed by a cougar! A bad man would not do any of those things when he knew he wouldn’t be repaid.”

Arthur looked at Albert, seeing passion in his eyes, brightly lit by the moon. They shone, his eyebrows knitted as he reached forward to grip Arthur’s hand. “You are a good man, Arthur.”

Speaking his name to him was almost perverse, but he didn’t regret it. The hand he held didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquor, the moonlight, the way Arthur seemed to give his lips a fleeting glance, the blue of his eyes glimmering in the moonlight…surely not. Surely he didn’t reciprocate. He had a choice. Heartbreak through inaction, or the possibility of returned affection. He squeezed Arthur’s hand, and before he could stop himself, he was pressing close, the smell of rum, leather, tobacco, horse sweat, all mingling into a smell that was only Arthur. Those lips, how he’d fantasised about their roughness on his own soft pink ones, and they didn’t disappoint.

Arthur was dumbfounded. Was this really happening? Was Albert actually kissing him? As he felt the velvet skin against him, his breath hitched, and his veins sang with glee. But then there it was. The wooden cross in the ground, with the deep etching bearing his name like a curse. The kiss tasted of poison, and Albert would be the one to wither and blacken under its influence.

Before Arthur knew what he was doing, he shoved Albert away with both hands, applying more force than he intended, sending him sprawling onto his back.

Albert gasped as he laid there, his heart turning from a blooming rose to a deadened, wilting nightshade. Pain exploded through his chest, seizing his throat, stinging his eyes.   
“I-I’m so sorry!” He yelped, scrambling back to a standing position, wobbling. “I don’t know what came over me! The alcohol, I suppose, I’m not used to it.” He swiped away the hot tears before they wet his beard. “Please forgive me, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur had long since thought that he didn’t have a heart. Yes, it had broken once when he’d seen those two graves that haunted him. Yes, it had when Mary had rejected him. But it wasn’t breaking this time. It was aching, wounded, but not broken. He knew Albert, with his terrible nursing skills, could heal it with another kiss. But he knew he couldn’t heal Albert, when he inevitably got caught up in his world. Even if he told him he felt the same, but why he couldn’t be with him, Albert, who saw the good and beauty in everything, would find a way to persuade him that he was worthy of him. But he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t.

“Oh, you must think me such a perverse fool.” Albert pressed a palm to his forehead. The swirl of the rum and his emotions made him feel odd and he bent at the waist, vomiting his dinner at the base of a tree.

Arthur stood, walking over to Albert and placing a hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you back to Valentine.” He was careful with Albert’s equipment, stowing it away how he’d seen him do it countless times. The bags strapped to his horse, he guided Albert over to the mare. “Think you can hold off on vomiting until we get back?”

Albert, pale and clammy, nodded and swallowed hard. Arthur lifted him onto the back of his horse with an ease that Albert would have adored, were he not so utterly broken. The pat on his back felt empty rather than warm, making him feel worse. He really was just an overambitious fool. His photography would fall flat, he’d be some creature’s dinner, and he’d die slowly knowing that he was unloved by the man he held in the highest esteem.

“I’m sorry.” He slurred drunkly into Arthur’s neck. “You hate me.”

Arthur chuckled, trying not to sound as distraught as he felt. “You’re my friend, Mr Mason. So you drank too much and kissed me, we’ve all done something like that.” He tried to perhaps convince himself that it meant nothing, but he’d seen his face when he’d pushed him away. He’d seen the moment his heart shattered. And it destroyed him. “At least you got a good shot of the owls.”

“Balls to the owls.” Albert hissed grimly. He was silent until they reached the hotel, swaying and looking very green as Arthur helped him inside. Once they got to his room, Albert collapsed on the bed, passing out almost immediately.

“Shit. I’m sorry I got you drunk enough to do that.” Arthur muttered, setting the equipment down. It was easier to say what he wanted when Albert was unconscious. “Bet you don’t even love me. Not like I love you, you damn lightweight.” He teased softly as he put his boater on the bed knob, taking a moment to curl a lock of his hair around his finger. It was so soft. “Wonder if you’ll remember this…” He whispered, before patting his pockets. He ripped a random page from his journal after scrawling a note on it, and placed it on the beside table just as Albert began to shiver. It was cold.   
“Aw, hell.” Arthur shrugged off his coat and laid it over Albert with care, making sure he wouldn’t freeze.

Not wanting to linger, Arthur turned toward the door, taking one last look at Albert’s pale, sleeping form. “See you soon, I hope.” He whispered, then left, closing the door behind him.


	3. Perhaps

The sun brought a pounding headache the likes of which Albert had never felt. He screwed up his eyes against it and whined, pressing his palms into his face. What had happened last night? He remembered the owls. He remembered the rum. He remembered Arthur. With a jolt, he realised could still smell him, such an earthy scent that was so at home on the cowboy’s skin. Was it too much to hope for that he’d turn and find him, still asleep, gorgeous brown hair around his face, peaceful? He felt the other side of the bed. It was cold. He sighed and moved to sit with difficulty, finding that he could smell Arthur because his coat was laid over him. Grabbing the collar, Albert pulled it to his nose and inhaled, taking in his scent. How it warmed him so. 

There was another memory he couldn’t quite grasp. But when he spied a note on the table, he grabbed it, hoping it would clue him in. He blinked at the looping handwriting, taking a moment to get a feel for it. 

_‘Not sure if you’ll remember last night, but if you do, know that you are still my friend. Probably my best friend. No number of silly drunken kisses could change that. Hope you feel better soon.  
Arthur’_

Oh. 

He remembered. The look Arthur had given him… The cold ground after such a warm spark of love. His stomach twisted horribly, and he grabbed the unused bedpan, only bile coming up as he heaved. He set the note aside, but his movement flipped it, and his eyes caught on what was on the other side. He recognised himself. A single sketch, his own face, lit up in a wonderful impression of laughter with sketchy lines. Loopy initials of ‘A.M’ accompanied it. 

It made sense in a way. Arthur, a man so strangely passionate about Albert’s work despite his rough demeanour, was so because he was an artist. And one with talent at that. He could’ve stared at that sketch all day, wondering if there were any others. He made sure the page was neatly stowed away before he went to sort himself out, a glass of water and a tonic helping to usher him away from the feeling of death hanging over him. 

He still felt awful when he packed his things, ready for his next trip, but he supposed all he had now was the chance to see Arthur again, and there was only one sure way to attract him. 

Those lips still plagued his mind, despite him knowing they weren’t his, would never be his. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep adoring the memory, so precious yet so painful, like holding a burning fragment of a diamond star. 

**oOo**

The scratch of the pencil gave a little more shading to Albert’s face. It was the expression Arthur had been fixated on while he’d been talking about the owls, and he wanted to keep it in his mind. So happy, full of wonder. That’s one of the things that made him love Albert; this land, in all its vast emptiness and savagery, it captured Albert’s heart as though it were some kind of fantasy realm. He looked at something as commonplace as an owl as one might look at them dragon things in books. He saw wonder everywhere, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel humbled that he saw it in him. Hopefully, Albert didn’t mind the drawing he’d accidentally ripped out for his note to him, but knowing Albert, it would be in a safe place by now. The photographer did have such an eye for the artistic, his delight in the world showing in every shot he took. 

When Arthur saw Hosea wake up from the corner of his eye, he snapped closed his journal and walked over before anyone else had the chance to snag his attention. “Hosea?” 

“Morning, Arthur.” Hosea smiled sleepily at him, but frowned when he saw his face. “Something you want to talk about?” 

Arthur nodded and turned a chair around so he could sit beside Hosea’s bed roll, leaning forward to keep his voice hushed. “You’re the wisest fella I know, and I think I need a little wisdom to set my mind straight.”

Hosea nodded to show he had his attention, and Arthur wet his lips before continuing. “It’s about love.” He muttered. “There’s this person… Oh, you’ve never seen anyone so perfect…” He began to dreamily fade away, before snapping back to what he was saying. “But I keep thinking of Annabelle and Bessie and Eliza and Isaac... and everyone else. I’ve got a choice to follow my heart, despite the risks, or make damn sure I don’t endanger them.”

Hand on Arthur’s, Hosea nodded. “Tricky one. Does she know you’re an outlaw? And does she know you love her?” 

Arthur swallowed hard. This was one hurdle of many, and he knew it was the easiest. “He thinks I’m a bounty hunter. He kissed me last night and I… I pushed him away. He was so upset. But I just kept thinking about seeing him dead, and I don’t think I’d be able to cope with that.”

The pronoun change seemed to slow Hosea for a second as he found something new out about his son, but he soon got over it. “All I can say is, you’ve got the power to set your own boundaries. Of course, I don’t expect him to join the gang, or you to leave, but you also don’t need to hold him at arm’s length.” He offered a kind smile, placing a hand on Arthur’s knee for a moment.

“Hmm…” Arthur scratched at his head, pursing his lips. 

Hosea leant forward, giving a wily smile. “Tell me about him.”

If Dutch had asked, Arthur would’ve been over that green hill and far away before you could say ‘Tahiti’. But Hosea held a certain empathy Arthur had always admired, always tried to replicate, and he knew he was genuinely interested. “He’s a wildlife photographer.” He began, letting his eyes unfocus. “I met Albert when he was taking photos out and about, and then I kept bumping into him, saving him from the local hungry wildlife.” A smile played on his lips, soft and genuine. “I think you’d like him. The way he sees the world gives me hope that maybe there is some good after all.”

“I can see why you want to keep him safe.” Hosea finally said, breaking him out of his trance. “Lucky for you, most people will just assume you’re casual friends, as long as you keep your affection to a minimum in public.” 

Arthur scrubbed at his chin with his nails, pondering that. “Hm. Good point. Thanks, Hosea.” 

“Any time, son. Now come on, we’ve got us a train to rob.” He smiled. “Then you’ve got yourself a man to woo.”

**oOo**

Albert pressed his forehead against the window, sighing for the fifteenth time that minute. Nothing felt real anymore. Before, he’d had that perfect image of himself in the arms of his rugged friend, being cherished and cared for, held like one wrong movement would shatter him. Now he could only feel the cold earth on his back, chilling his spine in the way that only heartbreak could. He nestled deeper into the coat, taking off his straw boater and putting it on his case. Arthur’s smell still clung to the warm coat, and it swaddled him like a cocoon, so much bigger than him, like a child wearing his dad’s jacket. Oh, no, that was an avenue he didn’t want to travel down. 

He peered out at the water, the soaring birds, the lush trees. Normally he’d be captivated. But it seemed secondary to the beauty he’d seen the night before. The moon on Arthur’s skin, the rum flushing his cheeks… He replayed it in his head, every misinterpreted cue making his head throb. Hopefully, he’d feel better once he was taking some photographs of bears. Or he’d feel very dead, but that might not have been that drastic of a change. 

Without warning, the train ground to a screaming halt, and Albert steadied himself on the back of the seat in front of him. What on earth? They weren’t there yet; they were on a bridge. But then did that mean…? 

A gunshot made Albert shriek, drawing the coat around himself tighter. He heard noises from the carriage in front, shouts and screams that made him afraid for his life. He didn’t lament for the end of his own sorry existence, but for the fact that he didn’t get another chance to apologise to Arthur. Maybe he’d be okay… Maybe the frankly sadistic angel that watched over him would give him some kind of respite.

Three men burst into the train compartment, one tall and lanky, one ginger and wiry, and one sturdy and strong. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery!” The tall man barked, stepping forward. “Hand over your valuables and nobody gets hurt! Irish, go check the next carriage.”

The ginger man gave a salute and trotted down the aisle and out of the door, leaving the two criminals. The tall one began to point his gun and bark at those on Albert’s side, while the other took the opposite, taking anything of value. Albert clutched his camera bag, whimpering as he burrowed deeper into the coat. 

He watched helplessly as one of the passengers near the front stood up with a pistol, aiming it at the stronger looking man. The first shot grazed his arm with a bad aim, still taking out a sizable chunk. It then clicked with a hollow chamber, and he instead tried to use the handle to hit him with.   
“Looks like we got ourselves a hero!” The man snarled, and Albert blanched at the voice. It was so familiar, but full of malice that he’d never heard before. The man shoved the gun barrel under the man’s chin, and Albert crammed his fist in his mouth to stop himself from screaming, watching blood and brain alike drip down the walls of the compartment. 

As the tall man got to him, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, his body frozen. The gun flashed between his eyes threateningly and he whimpered.   
“You know the drill, mister. Anything valuable, cough up.”

“I-I….” His hands shook as he looked in his pockets. He had all of two dollars, which he gave to the man. 

“What’s in the bag?” The man growled, snatching it away from him and opening it. His camera, his only solace in life, the only thing his father had ever given him aside from his scorn. And it was in the hands of a dirty outlaw. “Ooh, might be worth something.”

“No!” Albert snatched the bag back before he knew what he was doing, clutching it and holding it above his head, as if he could fend off a bullet with a leather satchel. 

“All done in there!” Came an Irish accented voice. “Oh, you having trouble?” 

“Yeah, but not for long. Tacitus, if you will.”

Albert felt a hand on his lapel, yanking him up and out of his seat. He squeaked as gun metal pressed to his jaw, and he began to cry out pleading words that sounded like garbled nonsense. But then he saw those eyes, recognising them immediately. And the eyes saw him.   
That was the first time he’d seen Arthur look genuinely afraid. They stared for what seemed like hours, yet no time at all. Were it not for those unmistakable reams of green and blue, he wouldn’t have believed that this was the same man that had helped him countless times. But there he was, with a pistol against his skin, Albert quivering in his grip, the masked face of a killer obscuring the soft expressions of the man he loved.   
It made sense. Why he was never allowed to know where Arthur lived. The deadeye precision as he dispatched the wolves without so much as a flinch. The scars, the demeanour, the insistence that he was not a good man. It was because he wasn’t. Albert had seen him kill a man right in front of him, pieces of the gentleman’s head still clinging to Arthur’s clothes. The gun barrel was cold against his face, as were the tears that slipped from his eyes. 

“Arthur…” Albert whimpered, trying to twist his way out of the larger man’s grasp. “P-Please, Arthur…” He wondered, was this the end? How poetic it might be, to be dispatched by the only person he’d ever truly loved, over a camera that probably longed for a new home. How sweet the metal of the bullet might taste. How welcome. 

Without a word, Arthur dropped Albert. He turned away, and he left the train, only the tall man and the Irishman left. 

“Well, shit.” The tall man said, looking from the door to Albert. “Ain’t ideal.”

The Irishman shook his head. “Can’t let him tell the law if he recognised him...” He spun his rifle, the butt toward Albert. He was about to protest, promise his silence, when a thud and a throb presented him with nothingness. 


	4. Of Course

If he thought the ache of a hangover was bad, he really needed some perspective. His eye was swollen and purple, making his entire skull pound with waves of pain, ebbing and flowing like the echoes of a gunshot. He was slumped forward, and he realised with a whimper that the only reason he wasn’t on the ground was because ropes were affixed to his body, tying him to a chair. The rag in his mouth tasted of blood, and he could only hope it was his own, not some poor dead man’s. He listened, hearing the voices of various men around him, trying to work out what was happening.

“He knew Arthur.” The tall man growled, and Albert peered out of the corner of his eye at him, seeing his deep scars and deeper scowl. “Couldn’t risk it.”

Another voice joined the conversation, one that seemed to strike fear into Albert’s heart like a falling icicle might strike an unwitting smoker outside a mountain cabin. It was low, the crack of the timbre only adding to how deranged it sounded. “You say Arthur left after seeing him? He doesn’t look like much. Never seen Arthur run from anything before, he must be something special, or someone to be feared.”

The familiar Irish voice spoke up behind him. “Still think we should just put a bullet between his eyes, just to be sure.”

“Are you kidding?” The tall, scarred man spoke up. “Arthur didn’t shoot him, even though he could’ve. If we do it, well… I kinda enjoy having my balls still attached to my body.”

The frightening voice spoke again. “Strange. Arthur is never one to shy away from a kill if it’s necessary.”

Albert couldn’t help the tears that dripped onto his trousers, his sniffle bringing blood into his sinuses. What had he got himself into? Here he was, about to be killed by outlaws, all because he dared to love a man. Perhaps it’s what he deserved. That stolen kiss. It still hurt on his lips, burning at them like a scald. But Arthur… How could a man so kind, so selfless, be a dangerous outlaw? It defied reason. He was so gentle with his touches, sweet with his words. If the sun was given a mortal form, it would look like Arthur Morgan. But that was the way, he supposed. The sun was warm; it gave life; it grew beautiful things in the barren earth. But get too close, develop complacency, and you’d be burned.

“For God’s sake, Dutch.” A fresh voice chimed in. This one was warmer, yet stern. He felt a cool hand on his burning forehead, and he jerked away, his neck giving a sharp complaint as he moved to look up into the face of an older man, lined with concern. “What have you done to him? Honestly…”

As the man removed the gag from Albert’s mouth, he coughed and spat, his tongue as dry as salted meat. He was about to speak when a cup was pressed to his lips, and the older man nodded encouragingly as he poured cool water into his mouth. It was sweet, soothing his aching, raw throat. “Thank you.” He rasped. Part of him wondered why he wasn’t shaking, but he supposed the bindings were too tight for that.

The man set the cup aside and pulled up a chair. In those few moments, Albert looked around, inspecting where he was. He was in a camp. An outlaw camp. He could see multiple sets of eyes on him, all narrowed in the way that a predator’s might while ascertaining if something was a threat, or prey. He looked back to the older man, swallowing his nerves hard.  
“Now, tell me, are you a Pinkerton Agent?”

The question was so direct that Albert felt his limbs turn cold, though that might have been due to the tight ropes. It took him a few moments to find his voice. “N-No, I’m a wildlife phot-photographer.” He tried to sound sincere, his tone wavering with fear and exhaustion. “Please, I need to see Arthur, where is he?”

The man raised an eyebrow, thinning his lips. “...Albert.” He said, and upon seeing the widening of his eyes and the frantic nod, he seemed satisfied. “He’s not a danger, Dutch.” He said to the mustachioed man simply as he stood.

“Wait, how do you know, Hosea?” The other man, Dutch, asked. “Just because he claims he’s a photographer?”

Hosea gestured toward the tall, scarred man. “John, what was it that Albert here refused to give up on the train?”

“Camera.” Was all he said, being curt.

Albert’s voice shook as he tried to interrupt. “I need to see Arthur.” He repeated.

Hosea moved to cut him out of the chair, yet left his wrists bound behind his back, something which terrified Albert. “We haven’t seen him since yesterday, but I can only assume he wishes to speak with you as well.”

“Why-Why leave my hands bound?” Albert asked shakily. “I don’t own a gun, I don’t even know how to use one. Everyone here is...armed.” He felt like a particularly juicy looking lamb within the depths of a wolf den, with the beasts circling ever closer.

“Hm. Good point.” He was relieved to have his hands free, and he held his raw wrists to his chest, rubbing them with a hiss. “Hosea Matthews.” He introduced, holding out a hand. “No point hiding my name, as you’ll probably recognise my wanted posters, should you see one. They do seem to add ten years though.”

“Albert Mason.” He shook Hosea’s hand, finding it smaller than his own. Strange, after the veritable paws of his own virtuous outlaw.

“Mr Pearson, would you kindly fetch a bowl of stew and something to drink for Mr Mason? A prisoner he may be - until we see Arthur - but we feed those as need feeding.” Hosea helped Albert toward the table, where he did not want to sit, as the man there made his eyes wide with terror. He was large in the way Arthur was, but stockier, with a beer gut, and eyes that showed he was a killer without mercy. He scraped the point of a knife over the surface of the table, all while keeping eye contact.

Albert’s hands trembled with the spoon in them, the rhythmic tapping of metal on metal doing nothing to help his nerves. He felt deflated, so tired, so sad. Here he was, some pathetic little scholar, barely an insect beside a man so massive and present, everything about him being glaringly obvious, yet an enigma. Arthur Morgan. Outlaw. Murderer. The kindest man he knew.

The stew sat heavy in his belly, and he pushed the bowl away, swallowing his nerves as he looked around. He felt like yelling when he saw that Irish man and a skinny black man looking through his photos, but he could only stare with a frown. He didn’t want to be shot for his impetuousness.

“Glad to have you back, Mr Morgan!” The camp cook said, and Albert turned so fast he felt his neck might break.

The horse was left by the hitching post, and Arthur walked into camp with a new air about him. Or was it always there, only Albert could only just see it? He was dangerous. Of course he was dangerous. But that didn’t matter.  
Albert saw his heavy-lidded eyes scan around the camp, only to fix on him. They widened, and Albert watched as he all but ran toward him, uncaring in the face of stares and questions.

How could he be here? His face, oh the bruises and blood. He expected an expression of revulsion, of fear, but he only saw relief. Arthur didn’t say a word as he grabbed Albert’s arm, pulling him out of his chair and steering him toward the banks of the lake. For all his might, all his insistence that Albert should stay away from his life, he’d been hurt. He could’ve been killed. And it was his fault. The thought twisted him up inside like his intestines had been turned into the harsh ropes of a noose, tightening around his stomach.

Pushing Albert to sit on a rock, Arthur removed his neckerchief and dipped it into the cool water of the lake, walking back to him and kneeling in front of him. “I don’t know what to say.” He muttered finally, pressing the cool neckerchief gently against Albert’s purple eye.

“That makes two of us.” Albert smiled, leaning into Arthur’s touch. He saw endless concern in the lines on his face, regret and shame. “...I’m sorry.”

Arthur laughed incredulously, without humour. “I think that’s my line.” He removed his neckerchief once it grew warm against the heat of his bruise and carefully wiped away the blood crusting Albert’s fair skin. He melted into the tender touches, longing for them to mean more than they did.

“If I hadn’t kissed you, I’d probably still be in Valentine, getting more shots of the owls. Not planning to fight bears on the off chance you’d turn up again.” Albert smiled despite himself. “I am a fool, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur shook his head. The way Albert looked at him, his soft hazel eyes holding nothing but admiration for him, in spite of knowing what Arthur hoped he’d never know…  
“I wanted to protect you from this.” Arthur grunted gruffly, his rough hand coiling around Albert’s in a way that made his chest flutter. “...I had a son, Mr Mason. I had a woman who I loved. And my life, with all its danger, it took them away from me. The thought of that happening to you, I couldn’t…” His throat closed around his words, and he swallowed hard to keep from seizing up. “You’re too important.”

Albert’s hand moved on its own, fingers slipping behind Arthur’s ear, combing through the hair at the back of his head. He didn’t care if he was rebuffed again, Arthur needed to know that he didn’t think less of him. That he was still in awe of him. “We’re from different worlds. That much is certainly true. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, does it? Chance encounters, those perfectly rare occasions, they’re enough for me.” He smiled, so thankful that Arthur didn’t pull away from his touch. He traced his thumb over his jaw, feeling the square of the bone and the scratch of the stubble.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. He was undeserving of the caresses, he should have been regarded with scorn and hate. But he breathed deep and slowly stood, offering Albert a hand. “Let’s get you back.” He said as he helped him up, clasping his hand as they walked back through camp. Albert’s stomach swam with eels as he saw the looks the gang gave them, confusion and judgement. But that man, that Hosea, he seemed to smile with understanding. Like he knew. How could he know? Unless…

The pair barely spoke as they rode to Valentine, Albert holding Arthur tightly, as though if he let go, he’d dissipate into smoke. His fingers played with the hem of his vest above his belt, no longer afraid of provoking a look of disgust, only caring about holding the man close to himself. That look stayed with him, the fear in his eyes when he recognised Albert on the train. It had replaced the expression he’d seen after he’d kissed him as the prominent vision in his mind, and it somehow unsettled him more.  
As Arthur stopped outside the hotel, Albert almost cursed, wishing he could stay. Desperate to be close to him. But as he was helped down, he supposed this was it. They’d part company, and Albert would be left broken once more.  
Arthur helped him carry his bags to his room, thankfully nothing damaged by the curious criminals, and set them down at the foot of the bed. Albert moved to lie down, the soft pillow like a warm embrace as he settled, exhaling.

“Thank you. Yet again, you saved my worthless hide.” Albert croaked, watching Arthur linger by the bed. “Will I see you again?” He asked, almost terrified of the answer.

Arthur smiled and took off his hat, setting it on the bed knob, shrugging off his coat and toeing off his boots. He was silent as he walked to the opposite side of the bed and laid down, his weight making Albert have to be careful not to roll into him. There he laid, on his side, staring at Albert with those beautiful green-blues, and the photographer could hardly believe it. Arthur Morgan, in his bed. He swallowed hard, unsticking his throat. “I suppose, to repay you after all you’ve done…” He licked his lips and tentatively reached down to Arthur’s belt, starting to unbuckle it, only to be stopped by fingers tight on his wrists.

“You don’t need to do anything for me.” Arthur said pointedly, and Albert bit his lip, looking from the belt back to his eyes. “Much less suck me off because I saved you a few times.”

Albert nodded, retracting his hands. “I’d do it, though. You know I’d happily give you all manner of favours.”

Arthur gave a gruff grunt, reaching an arm around Albert and pulling him close to his chest. “Not out of obligation, you won’t.”

If there was such a place as heaven, Albert was sure that in that moment, it wasn’t in the sky. It was there, nestled so close and so warm, his face pressed into Arthur’s chest. He didn’t feel like a bumbling fool, tripping over the ties of love, not while he was there. He was safe. The trademark smell in his nose, deep breaths and slow heartbeat ringing in his ears, and the firm hand at his waist, cupping him close.  
“This is a torment, Mr Morgan. You are forever branded to my heart, and you’re giving me affection that I know has no love behind it.” He muttered, closing his eyes. “Not that I don’t positively adore being this close to you, because I do. There is nothing finer in this world.”

Arthur chuckled, such a beautiful sound, and Albert’s breath hitched as he felt rough lips graze his forehead. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” Arthur mumbled, his words slightly muffled by the other man’s hair. “I should’ve kissed you back. You’re the only thing I think about. I can’t count how many times I’ve sketched you.”

The shards of his glass heart fixed themselves together with gold, so much more beautiful than before, and stronger with their new bonds. Hazel met blue as he stared at Arthur, disbelieving. But there was no insincerity. Only affection. Neither leaned in, but that rough hand caressed his cheek, stroking his neat beard as though he were touching a glittering diamond, treasuring every leisurely sweep of his fingertips. “For all my wishing that I could love the fairer sex, I don’t think I would ever trade anything for this.” Albert whispered. “I might be inexperienced, but this feels right.”

Thumbing at some blood he missed from below Albert’s nose, he wiped it on his own vest, his gentle expression not faltering. “I’ve had men before, but it was just fucking. Never thought a man could make me feel so...in love.”

Those words wormed their way into his chest, warming him from his head to the tips of his toes. Albert cupped Arthur’s face, his thumbs tracing his scars. “Run away with me.” Albert breathed. “Come to New York.”

Arthur didn’t draw away, but his face fell slightly, looking down. “You wouldn’t find a bison in a city, Mr Mason. You wouldn’t find me there either. Saint Denis makes me feel choked, all the smoke and crowds. New York? I think it might test my usual calm demeanor.” He nuzzled into Albert’s hand, scratching it with his stubble. “Besides, this is all I know. Killing, robbing, and stopping you from being on the end of something’s toothpick.”

“I’ll stay with you then.”

“No, you won’t.” Arthur said sternly. “You’ve got your photographs to worry about.” He pulled Albert’s hand from his face and squeezed it gently. “When do you go back?”

Albert couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. “A month.” It wasn’t long enough. Not nearly. “I’ll apply for more time, more study. I’ll come visit.”

The fact that the thought of having to spend time away from Arthur actually made him _cry_ made the cowboy sigh. He’d have to remedy that.  
The noise Albert made when he captured his lips against his own was one he wished he could immortalise in his journal. Although their first one was nervous, soft, and regretted, this one was more of Arthur’s style; rough and needy, all tongue and teeth and grasping hands. Albert could barely move with a combination of shock, lust, and pure, unbridled joy. It was perfect, better than perfect, just the sort of kiss he expected from the other man.

The pop they made as they parted made both of them smile, gazing at each other as though the world didn’t exist anymore. It was just the two of them, bruised and sore, but feeling content in each other’s arms.  
Arthur spoke first, barely a whisper. “How about we ruin our friendship completely?” He asked, his fingertips on Albert’s buttons, popping them open one by one.

“That sounds like a fabulous idea, Mr Morgan.” Albert cooed, leaning into him and kissing him with nothing but love on his lips.


	5. Always

“Is this that amazing white alligator I’ve heard about?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d draw it since I’m the one that killed it.”

“Oh, Arthur! Why would you do that?”

Lifting his leg from under where Albert sat, Arthur showed off his boots, made of beautiful scaled leather, perfectly fitted. “Fashion.” He replied dryly.

“You brute.” Albert huffed an amused laugh, turning the page to the next sketch. “Oh! Me again! You do rather enjoy capturing my likeness, don’t you?”

“Well, you do too.” Arthur flushed ever so slightly. “Don’t think I don’t notice those sneaky photos you take when you think I ain’t lookin’.”

Albert lingered on the sketch, mentally berating himself for the posture he seemed to take while leant over his tripod, finally connecting it to his shoulder pain. Could he be a bigger idiot? He memorised as much of the sketch as he could, then closed the journal, passing it back to him. “Thank you for letting me peek. I know how personal your journal is.”

Arthur pocketed it and nudged Albert off his lap, then stood up, offering Albert a hand. “Come on. Long way to go yet.”

“Oh, five more minutes. After last night, the harshness of a saddle is very unwelcome.” He stood with a wince, a hand on his behind.

Laughing gruffly, Arthur walked to where their horses were grazing, leading both over to Albert. “You weren’t complaining.” He smiled, helping him onto his horse, then mounting his own. “Kinda the opposite, you really enjoyed it. You were begging, if I recall.”

Albert winced as he sat in his saddle, shooting Arthur a weary look. “I’ll have you know, sir, that you were the man to steal my virtue. No, I’m sorry, ‘steal’ implies the lack of consent, and I know full well I gave it willingly.” His horse happily followed Arthur’s, plodding behind as they continued up the trail. “You saw a side of me that none else have, and I resent the idea that it was wrong to ask for seconds.”

“And thirds.” Arthur quipped back, making Albert go beet red.

The air grew chillier the further north they rode, and Albert pulled on the coat Arthur had given him, the cowboy donning his new wolf skin jacket against the cold. “Shouldn’t be more than two more hours.”

Albert whined tiredly. “How on earth do you ride all day? My hands ache, my behind aches, my back, my legs…”

“Soft city boy can’t handle a bit of rough? Ah, don’t matter.” He looked up as a red cardinal fluttered past, eliciting a surprised coo of glee from Albert. “...Tell you what, let’s have a singsong. Always keeps my spirits up.”

Albert smiled. “Oh, yes! Used to be in the choir in my youth. Do you know this one?” The sound that flowed from Albert’s mouth seemed inhuman, almost like a siren as he sang in what sounded like Italian to Arthur’s uneducated ears. It was an amazing noise, as it echoed through the trees, with a tenor that almost brought tears to his eyes. When Albert realised Arthur wasn’t joining in, about thirty seconds later, he quieted. “...I take it you’re not a lover of Mozart?”

Arthur looked back at him, eyes wide, still startled. “Don’t stop.” He urged.

The singing began again, and Arthur listened with a dreamy, faraway look. He wanted to make damn sure it stuck in his memory, not a single note missed as they rode. When the end of the song came, Arthur felt as though he’d been robbed. He wanted more, but, naturally, Albert asked him to sing next.

Of course, his university days had more than prepared Albert to sing an aria, but he felt a little out of place with it. Arthur wasn’t the sort to devour sections of classical music with the hunger that Albert often did, being the rough man that he was. But he still wanted to hear him sing all the same.  
Arthur grunted the first few lines of Cole Younger, deep and scratchy, yet in-key. He soon found his confidence and began to sing with a voice that any man who smelled of campfire smoke should. A few more words were mumbled, and it made Albert grin when he realised Arthur wasn’t very good at remembering song lyrics. Oh, but how perfect it sounded, and he wished there was a way to somehow keep a record of the song to play into his ears whenever he felt like it.

“I ain’t a good singer.” Arthur sighed as he finished the song. “If you decide to hang up your hat, you could be a star of the stage.”

“You know me better than that, Arthur. Me, in front of crowds of people? Dear me, no. I get stage fright when at the post office.”

Arthur chuckled at that. “Ah, just sing for me then. I’ll pay you handsomely. My lil’ songbird.”

“Are you suggesting that I shall be caged, sir?” Albert asked coyly. “My, what an intriguing thought. Bound and at your mercy. Yes, I think I would like that very much.”

With a snort, Arthur yanked his reins so his horse bumped into Albert’s, their legs knocking together. “I ain’t gonna argue when you call yourself an idiot no more.” He teased.

“I don’t doubt it.”

As Arthur steered into a small dip between two rocky outcrops, his horse whinnied, and he tensed, hand at his hip. Something was wrong.  
“Al, get ready to git.” He growled, eyes scanning the ridgeline.

“Wh-What?” Albert sounded panicked, his voice high. “Wolves?” He asked, hoping the answer was yes.

The click of cocked guns made both men tense, and Arthur saw two men jump out into the road ahead. He recognised their look. O’Driscolls.  
“Hold it there, boys!” One of them shouted. “We’ll be taking them horses, and anything you got in your pockets!”

Arthur sneered and was about to bite a reply before the other man finally looked at him. “Hang on… That’s him! Van Der Linde’s boy! Oh, Colm will be happy when we bring him your head w--“

The man slumped to the ground, a smoking hole in his head. Albert’s horse reared as Arthur whirled his arm around to the other man, a gut shot making him utter a guttural scream of pain, shaking hand aiming the gun at Arthur. Another fire sent it skittering across the ground, his thumb being nothing but sinew as he wailed.  
Arthur barely spared a glance for the dying man as he tried to calm Albert’s horse, surprised he’d managed to cling to her. He’d expected him to be on the ground. “Thought you was gonna chew gravel then.”

“O-Oh, my! Goodness me…” Albert panted, holding his chest as he watched the twitching body of the O’Driscoll with a green face. “I know I’ve seen you do that before but… well, I suppose it’s easy to forget.” He whimpered.

“Told ya before.” Arthur said as he spurred on his horse, uncaring of the body that crunched slightly below the heavy hooves. “I’m a bad man.”

Albert swallowed bile as he rode to keep up, in stride with Arthur, trying to keep his voice level. “Nobody is a saint. I’ve talked to people in the various towns I’ve visited.” He managed to keep his stomach from turning, managing to keep the image of the dead men out of his mind. “You certainly get around.”

“I was young, I needed the money.” Arthur joked as they turned the corner, having to ride single file on the cliff edge.

“Seriously.” Albert urged. “A woman whose horse had died and had been given a ride, a man who had his returned after it bolted, a man who had venom sucked from his wound on two occasions. I speak a smattering of German, that woman and her children… a police officer that was captured by Lemoyne Raiders. A trapper caught in his own trap.” He spurred to ride beside Arthur once the road widened again. “Tell me that they’re not good deeds.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped a little as he looked at Albert. “...hell of a fight inside of me, Mr Mason. Makes me feel sick sometimes. But, I do try.”

“And trying is all that counts.” Albert reached to pat Arthur’s arm, and promptly slipped from his saddle, having to be pushed back by the amused outlaw.

Idle chatter was cast back and forth for the rest of the journey, before Arthur pointed up ahead. “Here we are.”

There was nothing. Just a hill and some bare trees. Albert felt a little deflated, but followed Arthur anyway, knowing he’d have a good time with him regardless.  
However, once his tired horse struggled over the crest of the hill, he gasped. Steaming geysers littered the wide clearing, scattered amongst deep blue hot springs, the cool of the snow melting into humid warmth.

“Now, don’t peer in there.” Arthur gestured to the geyser. “Take your face off.”

“You really think me an idiot.” Albert breathed as he scanned the area, a few elk spying them and trotting away with shrieking bellows of fright.

As promised, Arthur didn’t argue, setting up their camp beside the largest of the hot springs. “Told you I’d take you somewhere you’d love.”

“It’s perfect.” Albert couldn’t help but giggle as he jumped from his horse, unpacking his camera to take some shots of the scenery. “Oh, roll on colour photography.”

“You think that’s next?” Arthur asked as he erected their tent, nailing the stakes into the ground.

“Undoubtedly. Once I possess the means, I shall be taking many photos of you.” He said as he waited for the hiss of the geyser, capturing the plume of boiling water perfectly.

Arthur raised a brow as he rolled out their blankets. “Me?”

Albert nodded. “The photograph I have of you now is very good, but it doesn’t capture the radiant beauty that is the colour of your eyes.”

“Pot, kettle, black.” Arthur gave Albert a cheeky wink as he set up the fire pit, not lighting it yet. “There we go. And not long ‘til sunset, so we made good time.”

Albert walked toward the camp and looked at the spring. “Is that… Is it acidic?” He asked. “I mean, could we have a paddle?”

Lord, he was cute. “Hang on, let me check.” He said, dunking his hand in the water before Albert could protest. He then began to scream, hand still in the water, yelling out in pain, and Albert made an unflattering noise of panic, rushing over to yank Arthur’s arm free, holding it up so he could inspect what were surely by now blistering welts. But his hand looked fine.  
“Just a bit warm.” Arthur snickered, earning him the weakest slap on the shoulder he’d ever felt.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Albert growled at him. “These are new britches, you’ll have me soiling them before the day is up.”

“Challenge accepted.” Arthur smirked as he tugged at his clothes, exposing his chest to the biting air. “Now, this is volcanic, slip down into there and you’ll cook like Albert stew, so maybe stick close to the edge.”

Albert nodded as he too began to strip. Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off him. Whereas Arthur’s body was marked with scars, hair, dirt, freckles, all telling a story, Albert’s was practically a blank canvas. It was milky, bearing slight bruises from their lovemaking, but otherwise perfect. They seemed to be staring at each other, their nude bodies each a portrait, despite how they thought their own was less than subpar.  
As they both slipped into the warm water, Albert sighed happily, sitting on the warm rock, letting the steam wash over him. “So, you’ve been here before?”

Arthur nodded, settling beside him. “You’ll only get upset if I tell you why.”

“...Slaughtering some animal of fable for clothing and trinkets?”

Arthur snorted. “Very astute, Mr Mason.”

Although before, their insistence on using surnames was purely for respect, it was now teasing, full of love. They’d moaned each other’s names, and it was no longer strange to use them.

“Would you like to play a game?” Albert asked, splashing some warm water onto his shoulders.

Arthur tilted his head slightly. “You can’t start strip poker already naked, that defeats the object.”

Albert laughed. “No, no, I mean, I ask you something, you ask me something. Back and forth.” He reached out to hold his hand. “Helps me get to know you a little more.”

Shrugging, Arthur leant back against the bank of the spring. “Sure. You first.”

“How did you get into the outlaw business?”

Ah. Arthur scratched at his chin, pressing his lips together before speaking. “Was an orphan. No good street rat at fourteen. Tried to steal from two men who ended up raising me, Hosea and Dutch. We was doing it for good at first. Robbed a bank, gave gold to orphans and the poor.” He stretched out his legs, wriggling his toes in the warm. “Gang grew from there. Right bunch of misfits, saved most of em from lynching, starvation, or prostitution.”

“Sounds to me like you had noble beginnings.” Albert reached toward Arthur, entwining his fingers with his. “Though you’re clearly still trying to be virtuous.”

“I do try.” Arthur squeezed his hand. “Do you have any family back in New York?” He asked, reaching back with one hand to pull a cigarette from his bag.

“My mother still lives there, and I have a sister too. Oh, my mother will be so angry if I tell her about you.” He laughed. “My sister knows I’m not a conventional man though. She thinks that I am how I am because my father preferred her over me.”

Arthur smiled at the thought of a posh woman knowing her son was having relations with a dirty outlaw. Oh, meeting her would be so funny. “My pa preferred whiskey to me, so maybe she’s right.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Albert pulled him close to kiss his cheek, smiling sweetly. “So, does Hosea know about us? He seemed to when I was in your camp.”

“He was the one who told me I should go for it.” Arthur placed a hand on Albert’s belly, his thumb tracing his ribs. “I think he and Dutch had something going on at one point, before Hosea got married. Maybe they still do, I don’t know.” He took a long drag of his cigarette as the sun began to set, Albert’s skin seeming to glow in the golden light. “One more question.” He said with a smile. “Do you want to take a photo of the pair of us?”

Albert’s face lit up, and he scrambled to grab his camera and set it up on the opposite bank, almost running to jump back into the water, Arthur putting an arm around him.  
“Oh, that will keep me company when you’re not there, I’m sure.”

“Because I’m with you, or because I’m naked?”

“Both.” Albert said with a flush, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

Once the sun had disappeared, and both men had been dried off, they sat by the fire, eating the meat Arthur had cooked for them.  
“Mm, is that oregano?” Albert asked, dabbing his lips with his handkerchief.

“Yeah, picked it myself. Killed the deer myself too.” Arthur said through a mouthful.

Albert drank from his canteen, then offered it to Arthur. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll have a brawl on your hands when you get to heaven?”

Scoffing, Arthur shook his head. “One, I think I’d enjoy that. Two, I ain’t religious enough to believe in heaven. Three, if it was real, you think I’d actually be allowed in?”

“I think it would be a terrible place without you, and therefore not paradise.” Albert pointed out.

“You really know all the lines.” Arthur grinned. He shuffled to lie down, taking off his hat and resting his head on Albert’s lap. Albert carefully picked up his hat and gave him a questioning look. “...go on then.”

Albert grinned and put the hat on, finding it fell over his eyes. He tipped it back and hummed, raking his fingers through Arthur’s hair, brushing the long strands out. “You’re starting to resemble Rapunzel.” He said as he plaited his hair lazily, leaving him with a few braids. “Don’t cut it, I adore it.”

“I don’t make a habit of self grooming, but if it gets to my shoulders I usually have to, otherwise it gets tangled with my bandolier.” He closed his eyes, relaxing into Albert, feeling entirely at peace.

“You could always tie it up. I recommend bunches, like a little girl.” Albert tittered. There was a rustle from the other man’s pockets, and he felt fingers on his chin, pulling his mouth open. Obedient and trusting, he opened up, eyes still closed, and purred when he tasted chocolate. He chewed with a smile, feeling Albert trace the contours of his face, soft and curious.  
“Watcha doin’?”

“Just memorising. Photos lack the 3D element of reality.” Albert used both hands to smush Arthur’s face, making him chuckle and push them away. He reached up and pulled Albert down for a kiss, before moving to lie down in the tent, beckoning him.  
“What are we doing now?”

Arthur hummed. “We’ll just canoodle for now. In the morning, if we’re well rested, we could have a session before we take photos.”

“Canoodle?” Albert laughed in disbelief, climbing into bed beside Arthur. He made sure his hat was safe, then curled into his chest, pressing close. “For a murderous tough guy, you can be adorable when you want to be.”

“Watch it. I can be as savage as a meat axe, shave tail.” Arthur smirked. “Mostly for scuds, but I can knock someone galley west when I need to.”

Albert blinked. “...was that English?”

Arthur chuckled and leant down, capturing Albert’s lips and stroking his beard, smiling against him.  
The rest of the night was spent warm, close, all thoughts of struggle and blood out of their minds as they basked in each other’s love. They knew they could happily live with one another for the rest of their lives, perhaps in a cabin by the lake, living off the land. That wasn’t possible, but this was fine for now. They knew that they loved each other, they knew they had someone who was there no matter what.  
And each of them knew that they were wholly and utterly in love.


	6. Goodbye

Albert tried to brace against the rifle pointed his way, his hands raising all the way up. “I-I’m here to see Arthur?” He said, a little shaky. “I’m his inamorato.”

“His what?” The man asked, his soft voice not at all suiting how mean he looked.

“We’re seeing each other.” Albert said, swallowing thickly. “I’m not armed. Hosea knows me.”

“Ah.” The man seemed satisfied and shouldered his rifle, walking forward to lead his horse. “He’s mentioned you. Albert, right?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He looked so large, even bigger than Arthur, and Albert couldn’t help feel both attracted and inadequate. “Dear me, I’m a pretty sorry sight, aren’t I? You could probably throw me to India with one arm.”

The man gave Albert a wry smile as he hitched his horse, offering a large hand to help him down. “Probably.” He said, his skin warm and rough. “I’m Charles. Charles Smith.” He said, morphing his helpful gesture into a handshake.

“Albert Mason.” He introduced. “Is Arthur around? I wondered if he’d take me to the station so I can say goodbye.”

Charles began to walk toward the campfire, beckoning Albert. “He shouldn’t be too long. He’s…working.”

Albert nodded, feeling a little nervous. He knew Arthur was capable; he wasn’t worried about him. He was worried about himself. Especially when he sat beside more gang members, trying not to seem as terrified as he was.

“Hey, remember me?” The Irishman from before grinned at him. “That black eye healed well, eh?”

“Y-Yes, well, Arthur helped with that quite a bit.” Albert grabbed handfuls of his trousers to steady himself.

“I’m Sean.” He said as Charles passed Albert a cup of coffee. “Lemme ask, which one of you goes on top?”

Albert spat his mouthful of coffee in shock, the fire hissing and steaming as he coughed. “I beg your pardon?!” He choked, taking out his handkerchief to wipe his beard.

“If Arthur takes, oh, that’ll really give me some good material.” Sean laughed, giving Albert a wink.

Charles put a hand on Sean’s shoulder, squeezing. “Don’t.” He grunted.

Sean sighed. “Oh, alright, Chuckles. I was only asking.”

Albert was about to speak when he felt something cold and wet on his hand, making him yelp with no amount of dignity, leaping to his feet. The dog behind him barked with a wag and leant closer to keep sniffing. A little boy ran over, and Albert was surprised, not expecting to see any children around. He supposed Arthur’s gang differed from other gangs. More like a family than a criminal organisation.  
“O-Oh, hello, young man.” He smiled, putting his hands on his knees to get closer to his level.

“Hi!” He chimed, though he looked a little unsure. “Who are you?”

“I’m Albert, a special friend of Arthur’s.” He rummaged through his bag, lifting out a stack of photos and thumbing through them.

“I’m Jack.” The boy stroked the dog, tilting his head as he watched Albert with a curious expression.

Albert smiled down at him. “What’s your favourite animal, Jack?” He asked.

The boy thought for a moment. “Uhh… I like dogs and cats! And rabbits.”

“Well…” Albert picked a photograph, holding it out. “Here’s a cat I found who was two halves of a cat in one.”

Jack looked at the photo in wonder, one half of the cat being ginger, the other half black, with one green and one blue eye. Of course, the sepia didn’t translate that well, but it was clear they were different. “That can happen?” He gasped, looking at it.

“Yes. They’re called chimeras. When the kittens are in their mama’s tummy, when they’re just little kitten shaped jellies, they sometimes press together and turn into one cat. So one half is one cat, and the other half is a different one.” He explained as simply as he could. “You can have that if you want it.”

The delight on his face made Albert feel pretty happy with himself. “Thank you so much, Mr Albert!” He showed the photo to the dog, clearly extremely excited about it. “Come on, Cain, let’s show mama!” He grinned, sprinting away to a tent near the water.

“Suckup.” Sean smirked, uncorking some whiskey.

Charles sat beside Albert, refilling his coffee cup. “I admire your project. Arthur’s told me all about you. I’m very against killing for sport, so you documenting wildlife to make people less inclined to kill for no reason is wonderful.”

“That’s lovely of you to say, sir.” Albert said after a gulp of coffee. “Certainly makes a change.”

“My mother was Native.” Charles explained, taking the whiskey from Sean, making him whine out a protest. “Always taught me that animals are just as important as people, maybe even more so.”

Albert nodded, straightening his hat. “I think the next time I come down, you and I should meet up. That is, if you’re not busy. Of course, Arthur is a wonderful guide, but I’d love your perspective on things.”

Charles gave him a raised eyebrow and a gentle smile. “...Yeah, I’d like that.”

At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, Jack ran toward the hitching post, brandishing his photo toward the tall, scarred man with excitement, and Albert could only assume the man was his father. Albert hopped up, and all but jogged toward Arthur, who dismounted when he saw him, his face going from being stern and hard, to soft and full of warmth.  
“Hello, stranger.” Arthur stepped forward and hugged Albert, squeezing him so tightly he felt as though he might snap.

Albert nestled his face into his neck, humming. When Arthur pulled back, he pecked his lips, seemingly uncaring of who saw.

“Eugh.”  
Arthur and Albert turned to see a man that Albert immediately did not like. He was dirty and mean-looking, like a backwoods shiner that had been in a ditch for a week.

“What, Micah?” Arthur growled, the noise rumbling Albert to the core.

Micah sneered at the pair. “That’s illegal, immoral, and disgusting.”

“You killed almost the entirety of Strawberry for your guns.” Hosea spat as he walked past. “Get some goddamn perspective.”

“Besides…” Dutch followed Hosea, placing a palm on the small of his back and pulling him into a kiss that made the older man roll his eyes. When he pulled away, he winked at Micah. “We ain’t judgemental when it comes to queer inclinations, so stop it.”

Micah, still scowling, stomped off to his tent.  
Albert looked up at Arthur. “I was wondering if you’d take me into Rhodes. I’m leaving and I want a bit of time with you before I go.”

“Shame you can’t stay.” Hosea frowned. “Haven’t seen Arthur this happy since John fell headfirst into that cow pat.”

Arthur began to laugh uproariously, in a way Albert had never heard, clearly ecstatic at the memory. “Oh, Jesus, that was funny. Wish you’d been around with your camera then, Al!”

Albert couldn’t help sighing at the noise, entirely smitten. “Alas, I must away. I’ll let you folks keep this old nag though.” He gestured to his horse that he’d bought when he first arrived. “As a thank you for not killing me horribly. Even if she is just a morgan.”

“Oh, thank you kindly, sir.” Dutch smiled, giving his hat a tip before leading Hosea away to his tent.

Arthur lifted Albert onto the front of his horse so he could lean against his back as they rode, then tied his bags to the saddle. He let his horse plod along, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Did you get all the photographs you came for?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks to you.” Albert leant back a little, humming. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it were it not for you.”

“Well...you might have done, but you’d be dead.” Arthur chuckled, giving Albert the reins so he could coil his arms around his waist. “Were I a worse man, I’d tie you up and keep you.”

“I don’t think I’d protest.” Albert said, seeming a little nervous about controlling Arthur’s horse. “Ah, to think, if I’d chosen New Austin, we wouldn’t have met.”

Arthur snorted. “Nah. I even try set foot over the border and I’d be gunned down. Wanted dead or alive over there.” He sensed Albert’s anxiety and placed his hands over his, thumbs stroking over his skin. “I’m so glad we did meet. Even if you’re gonna break my heart leaving me.”

Albert sighed wistfully. “It’s for the best, I suppose. But I shan’t be gone long.”

“You’d better not be.”

Once they reached the station, Albert and Arthur walked onto the platform, deserted aside from Alden, who was taking a smoke break. He greeted Arthur with a smile, eyes flicking up and down Albert with a quirked brow.  
As the train whistled to leave, Albert stood awkwardly in front of Arthur.  
“Well… I guess this is goodbye.”

Arthur scanned the train car, seeing nobody close to them. Grabbing Albert, he dipped him, making him yelp and blush. “Saw this in Saint Denis. Thought you might appreciate.” He chuckled.

“What about…?” Albert gestured to Alden, who was watching from the corner of his eye.

“Alden is one of us, don’t fret.” Arthur reassured him. Holding him in his strong arms, Arthur moved down to kiss him, their final goodbye, tasting of sweet love and salty tears. When they were together like this, they were one person, two hearts melded together like two halves of the same whole. They knew the kiss had to be quick, lest they be seen, but neither wanted to break it off. A few seconds seemed like years, yet like an instant. They parted and Arthur helped Albert stand straight, pressing their foreheads together, looking into one another’s eyes. Albert’s sparkled with unshed tears, Arthur’s dull and sorrowful. They didn’t need to share a sentiment of love. They knew. Oh, they knew.

“I want to give you something.” Arthur muttered, taking a moment to breathe in Albert’s smell. Expensive cologne and development fluid. “To remember me by.”

“How could I forget you?” Albert asked, holding his hand with care, as though he’d break him. “You’re nothing if not memorable.”

Arthur smiled. “Still.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of paper. Unlike his sketches in his journal, hurried and quick, this was a fully formed pencil portrait. The two of them, smiling from the page, time and love clearly poured into it.

Albert gasped and clutched it close, grinning at Arthur with a wobble of his lip. “I’ll treasure it.” He choked out, before swallowing hard and stepping onto the train, wishing this wasn’t real. Wishing he could wake up, be nestled in Arthur’s arms in bed, safe and warm. He’d walk through the whole of Lemoyne covered in predator bait, just to hear him laugh again. “Stay safe, Mr Morgan. Don’t forget to write!”

“I’m thinking up my first letter as we speak, Mr Mason.” Arthur replied, taking off his hat almost solemnly.

They watched each other through the window of the train. Albert pressed against it, his wide, hazel eyes streaming, lip quivering. As the train began to move, he ate up every detail of his dashing cowboy. His perfectly gorgeous physique, his shaggy, unkempt hair, the twinkle of his eyes, how he waved at him as though wanting to reach into the train and pluck him back to his breast. Although he planned to return, he knew Arthur’s life was fraught with danger. For all he knew, Arthur could have been shot dead that afternoon. So he stared and stared until Arthur was out of sight, desperate to keep him in his mind. And then he sat down, head in his hands, wiping his tears.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to watch the train round the corner. He simply turned, exhaling and pressing his lips together.

“He must have been something.” Alden commented, putting out his cigarette.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Arthur muttered as he walked to his horse. For just a few weeks, precious, shining weeks, Arthur felt as though everything made sense. Like the world wasn’t just a place made of bastards and bad things. He supposed love did that to you; made the rain seem like sunshine and made salt taste sweet. Without Albert, he wasn’t a man who, for all his bad, was worth love. He was just a mean son of a bitch, irredeemable, with nobody to point out his beautiful heart and kind deeds.

He never realised he’d been living in the shade until the sun came out, blinding and stark. But now it was gone, leaving him cold and longing for summer once more. Hopefully Albert would return to him, light up his life and warm his heart. But for now… For now, he was just him. And it hurt.


	7. Letters

_‘My dearest Arthur,  
As I suspected, my mother did not like my confession of love for you. I showed her your photograph, listed your good deeds, but she said you were not a good fit for someone like me. She'd prefer me to pair with some young aristocratic lady. I told her she was a prejudiced old bat, which she did not take kindly to. Despite that, I feel myself longing for you. I don’t see you in the city as much as I do in the country, I cannot imagine you in a motor car, though I would love to treat you to one if I could.  
I have been allowed another three months to photograph wildlife at the beginning of the summer, and I do so hope you will keep yourself alive and well until then. I shall bring you the watercolor set I bought for you.  
Missing you always,  
Albert Mason.’_

_‘Albert,  
Tell your ma she’s a crusty old bitch. Next time I’ve got a window where I’m not wanted, probably not for a while, I’ll come up and show her just how bad I am. Drink all her nice booze and eat soup with my hands and wear my skunk skin boots, things like that.   
I made sure not to kill this white beaver I know about so you can take some shots of it. Hosea wants to go fishing with us both, get to know you more. He said we should get married, but he was grinning like a weasel in a hen house so I don’t think he was serious. Not too bad of an idea though.  
Arthur.’_

_‘To my exquisite cowboy,  
I am very excited at the prospect of an albino beaver. Lack of melanin in wildlife could be my next project! I know you have a white arabian horse, you and her could be part of the portfolio.   
I am not a fisherman by any stretch, but I'd be eager to learn. Hosea seems to be a very nice man, and I'd adore a chance to get to know him. Who knows, maybe he'd officiate for us.  
I had a dream you were here with me. It was wonderful, as we existed in a time where I could hold your hand without fear. You were free of your commitments, and I could show you my world as you have shown me yours. Some day that might be a reality. For now, I hold onto the hope that we shall soon be in each other's arms once more.   
All my affection,   
Albert Mason.'_

_'Albert,  
Please visit as soon as you can. Things are a little hectic with the gang, and I need to get away with you for a while. Camping with you was the only thing that kept me sane, and I need to do it again. We'll go birdwatching, and catch salmon, and sleep under the stars on a warm summer night.  
And then we'll get married, start a family. I know I won't be able to get you pregnant, but it won't be for lack of trying. I've got a ring and everything, hopefully you won't mind that I once gave it to Mary. It will look good on your soft hands though.  
Arthur'_

_'My wonderful Mr Morgan,  
I'm travelling to Valentine on the first day of June. We shall walk in the forest, hand in hand, and we shall be happy together once more. There is nothing I want more in this world.   
I know marriage is just a fanciful dream, but do let me dream of it a while longer. While I'm there, we shall rent a cabin and spend a few weeks cohabiting. I expect you crave domesticity.   
I have bought you more art supplies, I'm eager to see you make use of them. I enclose a photograph of myself to tide you over until you can see the real thing, which thankfully will not be too long.   
From the bottom of my heart,   
Albert Mason.'_

_'Albert,  
Don't think I've ever missed you more than I do now. We've had a few losses of people I loved, and it's done a number on me. Seeing you would help me a lot.   
I loved the photograph of you, I keep it in my breast pocket so you're close to my heart, and I look at it when I'm down, which is often.   
Only six weeks to go! I hope the time will fly. I keep marking places you'd love to see on my map, just so we can go take pictures. When you come, I'll teach you how to use a gun. That way you'll be able to manage by yourself. Who knows, you might even get a taste for it. Don't make me wait too long. Especially because Alden - from Rhodes Station - seemingly has feelings for me, and not to spark jealousy, but he is very pleasant.   
I'm joking, of course. There's none but you.   
Arthur.'_

_'My most precious of gems,  
I am so sorry to hear that, my dearest. You do not deserve such misfortune, I wish I could grant you solace from any unfortunate events. I do long to be there for you. I'll make you forget all about your worries, with much "canoodling", as you succinctly said. I could list any number of romantic notions and activities, ones I'm sure would sound silly to a man of your frankly rugged disposition, but nevertheless, I only wish to do them with you.   
I have also met a man, not like this Alden fellow, but one who has given me some pointers on the finer tasks of homosexual lovemaking. I will enjoy trying them out on you, my teddy bear.   
Longing to see you once more,   
Albert Mason.'_

_'Dear Mr Mason,  
My name is John Marston, you may remember me from the train robbery, formerly of the Van der Linde gang. I sincerely apologise for any hurt I may have caused you during that incident. I'm afraid I have some bad news.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! :)


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